


Chase All The Ghosts From Your Head

by QueerOnTilMorning



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:07:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23472181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueerOnTilMorning/pseuds/QueerOnTilMorning
Summary: Bill has been working too hard, and Mike helps him relax.
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon
Comments: 12
Kudos: 111





	Chase All The Ghosts From Your Head

**Author's Note:**

> From the prompt: a cup of coffee, the inside of a wrist, "just let me take care of you"

Bill always sleeps in later than Mike, but today it's getting ridiculous. It's Mike's day off, and he's been up since seven. He made himself breakfast and set aside a portion for Bill, now grown cold. Then he took Zeke out for a much longer walk than the corgi usually gets, roaming the creekside trail that leads from the park across the street up into the foothills. It was a beautiful morning, all sunshine and birdsong and new green leaves.

When they got back, Bill was still asleep. Mike had a purely pro forma argument with Zeke about when and whether dogs were allowed on the couch, then went to take a shower. Now he's sitting at his desk, looking through the pile of notes he hopes will one day be a book, but he can't really focus on the outlining he should be doing. He's too distracted by listening for movement from the bedroom, becoming more and more irritated the longer the silence goes on.

Finally, Mike hears the scuffling sounds of waking: blankets pushed back, a yawn. Zeke jumps up and runs to the bedroom, overjoyed to discover once again that Bill exists. Mike briefly considers staying at his desk, projecting a silent aura of disappointment, until Bill comes to ask what’s wrong, but he gives that up almost immediately. He doesn’t have the energy to be passive-aggressive. He’s too old for that shit.

Instead, he goes to the kitchen to start a fresh pot of coffee. It’s nearly lunchtime, but Bill needs coffee no matter what time he wakes up, and he swears Mike makes it better than he can.

Bill meanders in a few minutes later, rumpled and shirtless with sweatpants hanging off his hips. Mike wants to be stern with him about squandering half a day they could have spent together, but he’s so damn  _ cute _ that a smile breaks across Mike's face before he can rein it in. Bill smiles back, pillow lines still etched into one cheek, and electricity sparks through Mike’s veins. Almost a year they’ve lived together, but Bill can still make him feel like a teenager with a crush.

“You made me coffee?” Bill asks. He snakes his arms around Mike’s waist and leans against him, his head fitting neatly under Mike’s chin. Bill’s such a tsunami of a man, barreling toward whatever he wants and leaving everyone else to choose between being dragged in his wake or crushed, that Mike is always surprised by how small he is. A miracle of space efficiency. "You're a hero."

"What time did you come to bed last night?" Mike asks, nuzzling Bill's hair, which is starting to gray.

"I think around two, the first time. But I couldn't sleep so I got up and worked again until about four. This fucking ending just keeps getting away from me."

"Damn." Mike knows what Bill is like when he's on deadline for a book, but this is the first time since they moved in together, and it's different up close. Bill is wrecked, he realizes. His hair is a mess from tossing and turning all night, and he's got dark circles under his eyes. Mike's earlier annoyance evaporates; he hates to see his boyfriend so wrung out. "What do you have so far?" he asks gently.

Bill leans back to squint up at him. "You're trying to set me up for another crack about my shitty endings," he says. "I'm not walking into it this time."

"I wasn't!" Mike protests.

Bill shrugs. "Richie would be disappointed in you."

"Only because you've been shirtless in my kitchen for two full minutes and I haven't taken your pants off yet," Mike says with a smile.

"Mmm." Bill closes his eyes and buries his face in Mike's chest. "Coffee first."

Mike extricates himself from Bill and goes to pour the coffee. Strong and black, the way Bill likes it (Mike let him get away with saying "the way I like my men" exactly once). He says the bitterness helps him wake up.

Bill wraps his hands around the mug and takes a deep drink, which  _ must _ burn his tongue, but he doesn't flinch. "God, I needed this," he says. "Thank you."

"Of course," says Mike. His heart still feels shivery when he sees Bill like this, all messy and sleep-tangled, without his guard up. Bill was the strongest, bravest boy in the world when they were kids, the one Mike would follow into battle without hesitation. Back then, he would have sworn Bill never needed anything. Now Bill not only tells Mike what he needs, he trusts Mike to give it to him.

"Sorry I slept in so late," Bill adds, followed by a yawn that suggests he should have slept later. "And that I've been blowing stuff off around the house. Just one more week until I either turn in this draft or my editor kills me, and either way you won't have to deal with my fucked-up schedule anymore."

Mike almost makes a joke in response, but he catches himself when he sees the strain in Bill's smile. "Sleep as much as you need," he says. "Let me worry about the house."

Bill just nods and takes another long sip of his coffee. God, Mike loves him so much.

Without thinking, he pulls out a chair from their kitchen table and sits down, kicking his long legs out in front of him. Then he grabs Bill around the waist and tugs him gently into his lap, making sure not to spill the coffee.

"Mmm," Bill sighs, leaning back on Mike's chest as Mike trails his fingertips over the inside of his wrist. His head is tilted so invitingly that Mike can't help leaning in to kiss his neck, just below his ear.

"Want to go back to bed?" Mike says, half muffled by Bill's skin.

Bill squirms a little in his lap. "Shit, Mikey-- I want to, I'm just so--"

"It's okay," Mike says. He curls one hand around Bill's waist while the other strokes his thigh. "Just let me take care of you."

"You take such good care of me, love," Bill murmurs, and it hits Mike like a shot of whiskey, leaves him unsteady and burning. Bill's soft, drowsy voice, the way he settles on Mike's lap as though melting into him-- it's almost unbearably intimate. No bravado, no seduction, just the incontrovertible fact of their bodies touching.

He still can't believe he gets to have this.

Pressing his mouth to Bill's throat, feeling the muscles tense as he swallows, Mike runs his hand farther up Bill's thigh. Bill lets his head drop back on Mike's shoulder.

"You deserve a break, babe," Mike says. "You've been working so hard."

Bill sighs, and it's not entirely from pleasure, as Mike would prefer. "What work?" he says. "I stare at a computer all day."

"Hey." Mike cups Bill's chin in his hands and turns his face so they can kiss properly. When their lips part, he says, "We both know it's more than that." The book Bill is currently struggling to finish is fiction, like all the rest, but it deals more directly than ever before with what happened to them that summer. With what happened to Georgie. Mike knows that, even on nights when Bill gets to bed on time, he hasn't been sleeping well.

Bill kisses him again, lingering on Mike's bottom lip. "Sorry I've been so distracted," he says.

"Let's give you something to focus on," Mike whispers. He feels Bill's sharp intake of breath, then his slight nod. Mike's hand on Bill's waist tightens, anchoring them both.

Bill lets his legs fall open as Mike continues to caress his thigh, hand steadily moving higher. The soft flannel of the pajama pants stretches and shifts under his fingers. Bill is wearing nothing beneath them, as usual, and Mike can feel him starting to get hard. He licks up Bill's throat, tonguing behind his ear and loving the way Bill gasps.

"Relax, sweetheart," Mike says, trailing just his fingertips where Bill is growing firmer by the moment.

"You relax," says Bill through clenched teeth. He's still holding his coffee cup, gripping it in both hands until his knuckles are white. With a gentle touch to his forearm, Mike takes the mug and sets it on the table. Immediately, Bill reaches up and back to bury one hand in Mike's hair, while his other hand braces on his knee as if for balance.

Pulling Mike's face into his shoulder, Bill whispers, "Come on." Mike slips his hand into the elastic waistband of the flannel pants and wraps it around Bill's cock.

Bill's spine goes rigid against his chest, fist tightening in the curls at the nape of Mike's neck. At the slow, steady pressure of Mike's fingers, he goes from mostly erect to rock hard in a matter of moments. "Fuck, that feels good," Bill moans, arching his back. Mike hums in wordless agreement.

Maybe this should feel tawdry, a handjob in the kitchen at noon, but to Mike, the heat of Bill's cock in his palm is never anything short of a revelation. Bill is  _ his.  _ Only Mike gets to touch him like this, thumbing over his slit, spreading precome down his shaft and listening to the hitch in his breathing. Ordinarily, he keeps a short leash on his possessive side, knowing perfectly well that no one controls Big Bill Denbrough. But when the man is sighing and writhing in his lap, murmuring an endless stream of filthy words, Mike feels like he holds the keys to the fucking universe.

"Yeah, baby, oh _ God," _ Bill whimpers. He's rocking his hips now, straddling Mike's thighs and grinding down, either not noticing or not caring that Mike's own erection is pulsing against his ass.

"Come on, love," Mike says, his voice low and hot in Bill's ear. "Let it out. I've got you." He jerks his hand harder, but not faster--Bill likes it when he doesn't rush.

"Please," says Bill, and then "please" again, higher and quieter, and then one more "please" that's barely louder than a breath, and then he's coming all over his pants and Mike's.

Mike grips him by the hips and thrusts up, hard, and then his own pleasure breaks over him like a wave. He clings to Bill, sobbing into his shoulder, until the trembling stills.

After a few moments, Bill turns to kiss him again. The way Bill kisses after he comes is almost as good as the orgasm itself, deep and open and sloppy, spilling over with excess emotion. Mike drinks it down.

"See, now that was a good ending," he says, and laughs when Bill slaps him weakly on the arm.

"Of course," Bill grins. "Why didn't I think of that? Getting jerked off by a hot guy would solve all my character's problems." He says it as a joke, but then his eyes go faraway and thoughtful.

"Please don't write another weird sex scene and blame it on me," Mike says, but he's pretty sure Bill isn't listening anymore. "Hey," he adds, poking Bill in the ribs to call his attention back. "Shower and lunch first, okay? Then you can go chase the muse."

"Right," Bill mumbles, mind elsewhere. Mike rolls his eyes and kisses the freckle high on Bill's shoulder. What the hell, he figures. It's just one more week.


End file.
